Misplaced Affection
by Strader
Summary: A series of romantic oneshot vignettes set in the Starcraft universe. Currently containing a meditation on why the Cerebrate is gone by Starcraft II, and a possible world in which Kerrigan and the Commander have an affair. Currenly taking requests - and please read and review! (Note: I had to increase the rating to M due to content in the second part of the second story)
1. Last Message

_Author's note: I wrote this as a meditation on what might have happened to the Cerebrate after Episode VI. While I am aware that the Starcraft novel claims that the Cerebrate of Episode II and that of Episode VI are not the same, I've decided to ignore that fact because, quite simply, it makes for a better story._

_Author's Second Note: I have edited this story since I first posted it; in particular, I have revised and expanded the ending slightly._

Last Message

[[[connection initiated]]]

_Yes, Cerebrate?_

I know you plan to kill me, my Queen.

_Right down to business…yes, I thought you might._

What? Not surprised?

_I suppose I should be, but, no – not really. You were always one step ahead, Cerebrate – it's what makes you such a brilliant tactician. It's why I've kept you as long as I have, and why I won't bother lying to you now._

You have a higher opinion of me than I gave you credit for. I'm…grateful for that.

_[silence]_

I've known it for some time, actually. Or, at least, I suspected. You've destroyed every last element of the old swarm, every brood, every cerebrate, even the fledgling Overmind Daggoth sought to create. He's dead now, him and all the others. And now, I am the last of my kind – and I know that you plan to kill me too, as soon as I outlive my usefulness.

_Get to the point, Cerebrate. All right, you know what I plan. What are you going to do?_

Nothing.

_[silence]_

_What?_

It may not have come as a surprise that I knew what you were going to do. But what may surprise you, my Queen, that when the time comes, as it eventually must, I will not resist you as the others did.

_You'll just sit there and let me kill you? No resistance? No futile attempt to rally a brood against me and make a last stand?_

Yes.

_[silence]_

_Why?_

Ever since the Overmind died, my Queen, I've been confronted with _choice_, the burden of free will, where before I had none. Before you, the Overmind was always there. A great voice in my head, speaking to me, guiding me, making me part of a larger whole. And he was the one who made all the great decisions. Certainly, I could think for myself – when and how I moved my troops in battle, for instance, was my own prerogative, and I had and still have opinions and a personality. But until he died, I never had to make any _choices_, or at least any choices more substantive than mere tactics and strategy. My life had a purpose, and I found that comforting.

_And you don't want to live any more without him – is that it?_

Not quite. When you came to me and offered me the choice between death and servitude to you, I could have chosen to let you kill me, if that was what I wanted. I chose to live.

_You wanted someone to tell you what to think, did you?_

Perhaps that's part of it. I never wanted that burden of free will, but it's one I must now bear, one I've had to bear ever since I chose to serve you rather than to die. And now where that servitude and that death are one and the same, I still choose to obey you. I choose to follow your orders, even to my own death. I choose to die, whenever you think it's best for me to do so.

_You're an enigma, Cerebrate. I suppose that's part of why I've let you live as long as you have. I've become fond of you. Like a pet you don't want to put down._

Thank you.

_[silence]_

Just do me one favour, my Queen. One last favour.

_What is it you want?_

Long ago, when the Overmind still lived and you were only newly emerged from your Chrysalis, you said you were grateful to me for watching over you during your incubation. Those were your words, were they not?

…_Yes…_

In the name of that gratitude, in the name of all my devotion to you, past and present, in the name of my willingness to go peacefully, I ask you only one thing in return, and it is this…Kerrigan, come to me.

…_What?_

I want to die, but not indirectly, not beneath the claws of your minions. No, my Queen, I want to die by your hand. Grant me this one request.

_[a long silence]_

_You…_

_[silence]_

_You've served me well. So fine. Fine. I'll do it myself._

Thank you.

_But not yet. I'm not done with you, Cerebrate. You haven't outlived your usefulness. Not yet…_

Don't want to put down your pet, is that it?

_You've surprised me, Cerebrate – you're a lot more complex than I gave you credit for. I suppose I find it refreshing. _

And you need refreshment, don't you? You find life boring?

_Tread carefully, Cerebrate. Remember to whom you speak. I am…_

The Queen Bitch of the Universe.

_[Kerrigan laughs]_

_You know, you never answered my question, Cerebrate. You told me that you wanted me to kill you, but you never told me why. Or told me why you want me to kill you myself. It's not that I mind – I've never killed one of you personally, and this will be my last chance._

I'm happy my death will give you pleasure.

_But why, Cerebrate? Why?_

I don't know if I can explain it, myself. Not for sure. But I think I may have an idea.

_Well, go ahead. _

The Overmind bound me to you, you know. Your life and mine, he told me, would be as one…

_**I am well pleased, young Cerebrate, and so long as my prize remains intact, I shall remain pleased. Thus its life and yours shall be made as one. As it prospers, so shall you. For you are part of the Swarm… **_

_[silence]_

He linked us, my Queen, in some intrinsic way, some indefinable way I never quite understood and still struggle to understand. I was your guardian, then; your keeper, and I remained so until I left you on Char to heed the greater call of the fight on Aiur. And now you are grown above me, and I am your servant rather than your guardian. Now the Overmind is dead, and nothing remains of his power but echoes in my memory. Now I am…free. Even if I don't want to be.

But the feeling persists. This…connection.

_[silence]_

…_What are you getting at?_

I can see from your face that you've started to guess at what I'm going to say. Yes, my Queen.

I love you.

_You what?!_

I love you, Sarah. I've always loved you.

_[silence]_

And because I love you, I know I cannot resist you. That, my Queen, is why.

_[Kerrigan makes a strangled noise]_

_[silence]_

You're speechless, for once.

_[silence]_

I don't quite understand it either. But all my life, I have tried to understand. And in my long efforts in trying to articulate the feeling I now know as love, I sought to understand you. Not merely the you who stands before me now, beautiful, powerful, the Queen Bitch of the Universe, as you so memorably put it – no, all of you, past and present. What you were as well as what you are – the woman, Sarah Kerrigan, as well as the Queen of Blades.

I thought that was my key, this second side of you. I immersed myself in your culture, poring over every piece of data from every captured ship and command centre, the thoughts and memories of every infested Terran. It was in that search that I first heard about the human concept of love.

At first, it didn't seem right. Love has no place in the swarm – except perhaps for the love we all bore to the Overmind. The way we breed and grow has nothing to do with mating in the Terran sense, the way we think leaves no room for emotional bonding. Yet…by all rights, with the Overmind dead, the bond he made between you and I should have been broken with all the rest. And yet it remains. That's when I knew it was this: that I love you.

_Cerebrate, you go too far._

I know you can't feel the same way about me. Terran love is different from mine. Love, for the Terrans, is connected with sex. Reproduction. But that has no relevance to me – because I lack the drive, need, and ability to have sex in any physical sense of the term.

_What are you getting at?_

You still love Raynor, don't you?

_[momentary silence. Kerrigan's voice when it comes is an outraged shriek]_

_How dare you?! How dare you ask me that?! I'll have you torn to shreds, Cerebrate! I'll have what's left of you thrown into the Defiler Mound to feed the rejects!_

How can you threaten me, my Queen, when my death is already a foregone conclusion? I speak of Raynor, in any case, because he and I, I've come to realize, are like mirrors of one another.

_Enough!_

I remember how he reacted when he saw you emerging from the Chrysalis. Where I saw beauty, he saw horror. Raynor loves the Sarah that _was_, the image in his head of the person he knew in that infinite time before I even came to exist. I know this because I know him as well as you do.

_What the hell are you talking about?!_

In the darkness of your dreams in the Chrysalis, the dreams you helplessly sent out across the void of space, I saw your memories of him; the time you spent together. Raw, emotional images.

I saw the first time you met him; the banter. You read his mind; called him a pig. I remember exactly what he was thinking, just as well as you do. I remember the adrenaline rush you felt when you fought beside him on Antiga. It wasn't just from the fighting; there was something else. A strange, erotic edge to the violence. I remember your first kiss, in your old quarters aboard the _Hyperion_. I remember the night that followed that kiss…

_Damn you!_

I, on the other hand, love the Kerrigan that _is_, the you who stands before me even now, beautiful in your glory. In your wrath, even now. I've realized that I loved you ever since you emerged from the Chrysalis, the magnificent daughter of the Swarm, the greatest creation of the Overmind.

So take me, Kerrigan, my Queen, my love. Take my life.

Take me now.

_[silence]_

[[[connection terminated]]]


	2. Coda

_Author's Note: Looking at the way the last story ended, I felt like there was a little more to explore. Those who do not like this Coda are free to ignore it._

Coda

[[[connection initiated]]]

_Cerebrate._

I didn't think you'd still come. Or that it'd take you this long. I remember that you threatened to have me cast into the Defiler Mound.

_I also said you hadn't yet outlived your usefulness, but I lied about that too._

Was it a lie? I would probably have another few months if I hadn't told you the truth.

_[silence]_

Why did you come?

_Because you asked me to._

You seemed angry after our last -

_[Kerrigan interrupts, cutting him off]_

_Did you mean what you said?_

Yes.

_[silence]_

I have only one regret.

_And what would that be?_

When Fenix died, Raynor vowed revenge. He hates you, now.

_Don't tempt me again. Just get to the damn point._

I may be the last one in this wide universe who loves you, my Queen. And when I'm gone, you will be alone.

_Are you begging for mercy?_

No. Perhaps it would be easier for you if I were. But, no. I've known how this would end for a long time. I've known how it would end ever since Korhal. You know, I was almost tempted to defect. Tell Fenix and Duke what you were up to. They might have let me live, assuming we actually managed to defeat you.

_I admit it would have been a challenge if you had. Your tactical genius is almost without peer – the only one I ever knew who came close was an old friend, who used to be a Commander in the Sons of Korhal with me. And yet, you didn't betray me. Presumably because "you love me"._

Your sarcasm aside, I would never have been able to go on living without you, even assuming we won and they let me live. I would have been alone, bitterly alone in this universe.

I regret that I have to die. I don't want you to be alone.

_Damn your pity, and damn your love! I don't need it. I am the Queen of Blades._

I hope you mean that. I hope that's true. Because if you won't feel alone after I'm gone, then I can die happy.

_[silence]_

_[there is a noise like wet paper being torn as Kerrigan suddenly attacks the Cerebrate, hacking through his flesh]_

[silence]

_[carving noises continue]_

I think I'm going to die soon.

_I know._

Thank you for doing this for me.

_Cerebrate, I called you a pet I didn't want to put down, earlier._

Yes?

_You feel things for pets. You probably read that when you were poring through all those databases. So, in a funny way, Cerebrate…I suppose I love you, too._

Thank you.

_[carving noises continue for several minutes, then stop]_

[[[connection terminated]]]


	3. Raynor's Girl, Part 1

_Author's Note: This originally popped into my head as a "what if" story. I've always toyed with the idea of the Commander having drinks with the crew on a regular basis – this seemed like a possible extension of that idea. Some might complain that the "moment of truth" is abrupt or random. Those who have actually been in this sort of situation will, of course, realize that that is exactly how this sort of thing tends to play out._

Raynor's Girl, Pt. 1

The Commander was about to give up and put the liquor away when Lt. Kerrigan arrived.

He'd been holding these parties weekly for several months now: Saturday, every week, he and the senior staff would meet and get drunk together. The tradition had started on Mar Sara, while he was still the Magistrate there. After he'd met Jim during that godawful mission in the Wasteland, the two had become fast friends, and had started meeting at a local bar for drinks once a week – usually Saturdays. They'd continued that tradition even after joining the Sons of Korhal and being forced to leave Mar Sara; meeting for drinks at 11:00 PM sharp in the Commander's quarters every Saturday.

Over time, the tradition had caught on, and they started inviting other members of the senior staff. By the time the revolution on Antiga was in full swing, their regular attendees had grown to include Arcturus, Lt. Kerrigan, and – eventually – even Edmund Duke. They'd get plastered off whiskey and brandy and reminisce about old times, or boast about the things they'd achieve in the future, once the Confederacy was defeated.

The Commander had taken a photo of the five of them, once – Jim, Sarah, Arcturus, and Duke, along with the Commander himself. Everyone – even, uncharacteristically, Duke – had reached that stage of drunkenness when all seems well with the world, and they'd all raised their glasses and grinned awkwardly into the lens. He'd loved that photo so much he'd had a copy framed for himself.

What had happened on Tarsonis, however, had put a damper on things. When the Psi Emitters had been deployed, their camaraderie had turned to doubt and suspicion as though with the flick of a switch. They'd immediately polarized into factions based on their stance on what had happened: Jim, the Commander, and Sarah were all uncomfortable with it, but Arcturus believed it was justified. Duke, for his part, didn't care either way – an opportunist at heart, he just went with whatever Arcturus ordered him to do. But the Commander knew who he'd back if push ever came to shove.

As a result, the Commander didn't expect either of them to show up the next time Saturday evening rolled around. In point of fact, he hadn't expected _anyone_ to show up – the mood aboard the ship was decidedly subdued, and a party would have seemed out of place. So, although he'd put out the liquor and the glasses as usual – more out of force of habit than anything else – he'd busied himself reading a book, and had been about to clean up and turn in when he heard a knock on his door.

"Lieutenant Kerrigan?" The Commander's face had presumably given away his surprise, because she smiled wryly back at him.

"You can call me Sarah, 'Commander'. It's not like we're on duty."

"Actually, you caught me off-guard. I didn't think anyone would show up. It's almost midnight."

"Well," she said, "I need a stiff drink."

He nodded wordlessly as he invited her in. The Psi Emitters, and the knowledge of what the Zerg were doing to the population of Tarsonis as a result of Mengsk's decision to use them, weighed heavily on all of them. In truth, even he'd started turning to liquor to cope – perhaps a bit more than he should have. He'd already drunk a glass and a half on his own.

As she sat down in his reading chair – not bothering to ask his permission, as usual – he handed her a tall glass of brandy, then refilled his own and pulled up his desk chair.

"I see you started without me," she remarked drily.

"You aren't the only one who needed a drink," he replied grimly. She nodded and took a sip from her glass. They were silent for several more seconds.

"Where's Jim?" asked the Commander, after the silence became too uncomfortable.

"He's in his quarters. We've…he's been brooding over what we've done."

"Surprised he didn't need a drink too," was the Commander's only comment. She nodded.

They sipped their drinks in silence.

* * *

The Commander would later reflect that they both drank far more liquor than they should have – even by their already-high standards. The fact that they spent the first half hour, before the booze kicked in, in an awkward silence didn't help matters – with nothing to do but sit silently and drink, they were already three glasses in by the time they started feeling the effects. Those effects, however, quickly melted the ice, and the two of them were soon chatting gaily as though nothing were wrong. Perhaps that was the intention.

Within an hour or so, both Lieutenant and Commander were – as his Adjutant might have put it –"in a state of extreme intoxication". Both of them were giggling uncontrollably as they told one another filthy jokes.

"…And the Marine says: 'warehouses'?!" drawled the Commander, trying with limited success not to burst out laughing before getting to the punchline. "I thought you said 'whorehouses'!"

Both of them bent over, laughing uncontrollably. Kerrigan was literally crying with laughter. It occurred to the Commander that they'd both have a hell of a hangover the next morning - and it wasn't even 1:00 AM yet.

By 2:00 AM, they had reached the "play music and sing along poorly while you attempt and fail to dance" stage of drunkenness. The Commander had tapped into Jim's archive of old-Earth pop music, and the two of them were attempting a drinking game to the tune of a downright ancient song called "Tubthumping."

_I get knocked down, but I get up again/_

_You're never gonna keep me down/_

_I get knocked down, but I get up again/_

_You're never gonna keep me down…_

"Get ready!" slurred the Commander.

_He drinks a Whiskey drink, he drinks a Vodka drink/_

_He drinks a Lager drink, he drinks a Cider drink/_

_He sings the songs that remind him of the good times/_

_He sings the songs that remind him of the better times…_

The two of them managed to get to "Vodka" before tripping up and spilling the shot glasses of lager beer and hard cider all over the floor.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," said Kerrigan, after the two of them were finished laughing.

The Commander nodded. He felt ill, and from the stirrings in his stomach, he suspected that he would be hunched over a toilet some time within the next hour or so.

_Don't cry for me, next door neighbor…_

"I don't understand this song," observed Kerrigan. The Commander just shrugged.

"It was a different time."

* * *

By 3:00 AM, they had thoroughly tired themselves out, and were sitting next to one another on the Commander's bed and attempting not to pass out or vomit.

"Maybe...m…" attempted Kerrigan before giving up and tossing back the last of her glass. They'd managed to polish off two and a half bottles of hard liquor between the two of them. The Commander thought he could hear his liver crying.

"We should probably turn in," he suggested. Kerrigan giggled and nodded. It occurred to him that he'd never seen her this bubbly before – even when she was drunk. Was it a reaction to the depression over the Psi Emitters? He wondered.

God, he was too drunk to think.

He helped her up, and managed to support her as they staggered over to the door.

"Do you need me to walk you back?"

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "I can manage."

"All right."

The door slid open with a hiss.

"Well…" he said. "Good night."

"Good night," she replied.

They looked at one another for several seconds.

The next thing the Commander realized was that her arms were around him, and they were kissing.

Unable to keep balance, they fell backward into his room and onto the floor, the door hissing shut behind them. Kerrigan climbed on top of him, straddling him, then leaned down again. The Commander could feel Kerrigan's tongue pressing insistently against his own. She disengaged for a moment to run her tongue along his exposed neck, making him shiver, then brought her lips to his again. He grinned. Even this drunk, she was _good_. Jim must have a hell of a…

In the back of the Commander's mind, through the hazy fog of lust and alcohol, a thought wrestled its way to the surface. He pushed Kerrigan away from him.

"No," he said. "No. This is wrong. We're not thinking straight."

He was saying it, but his body didn't believe it – drunk as he was, his equipment still worked, and he could feel himself getting hard beneath her. He knew that if she kept going, he wouldn't be able to resist her. If he was lucky, they would eventually get up and stagger to the bed; otherwise they'd just remain there, wrestle out of their uniforms, and screw right there on the deck. It would be an awkward morning. It would be awkward even if they stopped right now – he didn't know if he'd ever be able to look Jim in the eye again.

Luckily, as all that flashed through his head, he noticed Sarah recoil slightly. She was a telepath, he suddenly remembered. She must have read his mind and realized what he was thinking.

"You know I'm right," he said. "This needs to stop."

There was a pause.

"You're right," she said.

For a moment, they looked at one another and seriously considered continuing anyway. Then she got up off of him and walked – or, more precisely, staggered – out of his room without another word.

The Commander brought a hand to his face and ran it through his hair.

Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up.

When he was done, he tottered unsteadily to his feet, wiping the bile from his cheek, then dropped down into a squat and threw up again. He'd have to clean up the mess, he thought as he looked down at the quickly-spreading pool of vomit – the sooner the better. He noticed the double-meaning almost immediately, but decided to focus his efforts on the floor for the evening.

As it turned out, he would never get the chance to clean up the second mess. He didn't run into Kerrigan all the next day – and the day following _that_, she was deployed on that last, fateful mission to New Gettysburg.

As it turned out, in fact, he wouldn't be alone with her for another two years.


	4. Raynor's Girl, Part 2

Raynor's Girl, Pt. 2

_Shakuras. Two years later…_

It was a short time after her meeting with the Matriarch and Zeratul – three days before they left for Braxis – that Kerrigan heard an old friend of hers was on Shakuras.

Most of the Protoss refused to talk to her – she'd spent the greater proportion of her time brooding on her own in the small, comfortless room the Protoss had grudgingly provided her. She'd only heard the news when, out of sheer boredom, she had eavesdropped on two conversing Protoss – using her telepathic abilities to listen in on them was difficult to do un-noticed, but she was so bored by that point that she was willing to try anything to alleviate the dullness.

She'd known that Raynor had chosen to remain behind on Aiur to shut down the Warp Gate and stop the renegade Zerg from coming through. She'd fully expected him to do so – he was always so selfless, despite his cavalier façade – but, in truth, she had been a little disappointed that she wouldn't be able to meet him again just yet. She had also known that Raynor had sent a few of his most grievously-wounded soldiers through the portal to Shakuras for treatment, knowing that they would die if they remained in the warzone Aiur had become.

What she hadn't known was that the Commander, former Magistrate of Mar Sara, had chosen to accompany them.

Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of humour.

* * *

She'd activated her cloaking device as she picked her way through the triage centre the Protoss and Terran medics and doctors had set up for the human casualties. Most of them were comatose, but a few were on their way to recovery, and there would probably have been a scene if one of them had spotted her. At the moment, she was only interested in her old acquaintance.

The Commander had set himself up in a one of a series of ramshackle hovels the Terrans had hastily constructed with one of their few operational SCVs, overlooking the tent city which made up the triage centre. When she reached it, she uncloaked herself and knocked on the door – more out of deference to custom than anything else, since the door wasn't locked, and she could easily have torn it off its hinges if it had been – then waited a few seconds, listening to the sounds of the Commander moving through the house toward the door.

In the moment before the Commander opened the door, she wondered to herself why she'd chosen to come. However, she didn't have the chance to pursue that line of thought, for a second later she found herself face-to-face with an old friend.

When the Commander opened the door, he stared at her for several long seconds, as though he'd seen a ghost. She noticed the pun almost immediately, but didn't smile.

The Commander looked much the worse for wear since she'd last seen him. Gone was the clean-cut, clean-shaven man she'd known in that long-ago time in the Sons of Korhal. His eyes were bleary, as though with a lack of sleep, and he hadn't shaved in several days. His hair was dishevelled, and he'd obviously been drinking before she showed up. She could smell the whiskey on his breath even from where she was standing.

"I needed a stiff drink," she said, by way of explanation.

The Commander stared at her for several more seconds, and she thought for a moment he'd slam the door in her face. In truth, she wouldn't have been surprised if he had – showing up as she was with nothing more than a glib one-liner to explain herself, she hasn't expected anything but a cold reception. But after a few seconds, he nodded and gestured vaguely for her to come in. Perhaps, she mused, he was too tired, drunk, or both to really question what had just happened.

"I see you've already started without me," she observed as she sat down in the most comfortable-looking chair.

"You aren't the only one who needed a drink," he replied wearily, filling up a glass with whiskey and passing it to her.

Both of them frowned at a sudden feeling of déjà vu.

They sipped their drinks in silence for several seconds. The feeling of déjà vu became more intense.

"I haven't had this in a long time," she eventually mused to break the silence, tapping the whiskey glass with one long claw. He nodded. Another silence. She was starting to wonder if coming here had been a good idea.

"Why are you here, really?" he finally asked.

"I told you, I…"

"Come on, Sarah," he snapped. "Even if that were true – which I doubt – you could have stolen a bottle from one of the medics."

She sighed and emptied her glass, then picked up the bottle and refilled it. The Commander made no move to restrain her.

"I haven't had anyone to talk to in days." This was true. "I guess I wanted some company." This was also true – at least in part. Although she'd been content for the first few days to gloat over how easily she was leading the Protoss on, that had eventually begun to wear thin.

The truth of the matter was that she was bored. And the Commander had been as close to a friend as anyone she'd ever known – aside from Jim, but that was different.

Or was it so different? She remembered the night of the Commander's last party. Remembered what had happened, then. She'd been ashamed of how she'd acted, and she'd mostly succeeded in burying that memory until now. Part of her, she also had to admit, had been strangely aroused, but she'd simply chalked that up to libido at the time.

There had, in any case, always been a mutual attraction between them. She'd thought the Commander was cute, even handsome, in his way – though he had nothing on Jim's rugged features – and she was enough of a telepath to realize that he'd had a crush on her, if only a subconscious one. But whatever had existed between them had been nothing like her and Jim. Nothing like that. The two of them had gotten drunker than they should have, and they'd…well, for lack of a better term, they'd made out. But they had been sober enough to stop themselves before they went further. It should have been simple.

Two years later, as the Queen of Blades sat in the Commander's hovel on Shakuras and sipped a tumbler of whiskey, she concluded that it wasn't simple at all.

"The Queen of the Zerg wants company?" said the Commander. She could tell he meant it to be bitingly sarcastic, but his heart wasn't in it and he ended up sounding tired and resigned rather than malicious. She decided to ignore the intent and focus on the result.

"In her way, yes," she replied. The Commander stared at her for another few seconds, then slugged back the rest of his whiskey and refilled it.

* * *

Half an hour later, they still hadn't said much more to one another, but the Commander had become quite drunk. Kerrigan, for her part, was finding that the alcohol was having little effect on her – she still felt alert and sober. Perhaps, she thought with a sigh, her Zerg physiology did have its disadvantages: her body was metabolizing the alcohol so efficiently that she didn't feel intoxicated at all, even though she'd already polished off half the bottle singlehandedly.

"So, why come here?" she asked, more to break the silence than out of any genuine curiosity. "Why leave Raynor on Aiur?"

"Because I'm sick. No," he said, noticing her expression, "Not like that. I'm sick of fighting, Sarah. I took that assignment as Magistrate on Mar Sara two years ago because I wanted to help people. I ended up in Arcturus' rebellion, all because I tried. And since then, it's been one battle after another. I'm tired of being a Commander; tired of causing death."

Evidently, he'd reached the "confession" stage of drunkenness. She decided to press the point further. "Even though you're so good at it?" she asked with as good an approximation of innocent curiosity as she could muster.

"_Especially_ because I'm so good at it," he replied emphatically. "I've taught Raynor a lot. He'll be fine. Hell, in a few more years, people will probably remember those victories as his, not mine. And I'm okay with that."

There was a momentary silence.

"Where will you go?" she asked idly.

"Umoja, probably. Maybe there I can find a line of work where I can save lives instead of ending them. I'll leave the killing to you and your swarm."

She pointedly ignored the attempted dig, and after a few seconds, he sighed and finished his glass before putting the empty tumbler down.

"I think I've had enough," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

He smiled grimly. "The last time I had this much to drink when we were alone together…"

He let that thought trail, but she deliberately caught his eyes and smiled.

"I remember."

Even before unravelling her Ghost conditioning on the _Amerigo_, her telepathic powers would have allowed her to read the Commander's emotions quite easily – nowadays, she could read his thoughts almost as easily as her own. And even if she hadn't been a telepath, she knew from experience how drunk he was. She could easily seduce him, if she chose.

She was bored. She was lonely – in a way she hadn't known she was until the Commander had made her think of Jim. She chose.

She leaned forward, grabbed him by the collar of his uniform, and brought her lips to his. His lips parted easily for her tongue, as she'd known they would.

But he had a little more restraint than she'd given him credit for. With a struggle, he broke away.

"All your motives are corrupt, Sarah," he managed. "Even this."

This was entirely true. She didn't want the Commander in any sense but the purely physical – didn't, in point of fact, want the _Commander_ at all. However, she was horny, and didn't feel like a debate at the moment. She scanned his mind to find the right psychological lever to pull to get her way.

"Do you care?" she said after a moment, punctuating the point by sliding her right hand into his pants to fondle his penis, and using her left hand to move his right down to her breast. "Don't pretend you were never a little jealous, 'Commander'. Seeing Jim and I together. I know you were always attracted to me. Don't tell me you never wondered what it would be like, me and you. Don't tell me you never fantasized about what would have happened if we hadn't stopped that night…"

She could have phrased that a _lot_ more eloquently, but it nevertheless achieved the desired effect on the Commander's alcohol-fogged brain. He fell silent, and she pressed the advantage home by bringing her lips to his again. This time, there was no resistance.

After a few moments, she pushed him down to the floor. The Commander had a small, uncomfortable-looking cot in the corner, but she'd taken one look and decided she'd prefer the floor. In any case, it had been years since she'd last slept in a bed – or slept at all, in point of fact.

She managed to struggle out of the remains of the Ghost uniform she still wore by force of habit, and used her claws to slice the Commander out of his clothes. Before he had any chances to complain about his shredded uniform or to come up with another excuse for them to stop, she guided him inside her and began to rotate her hips in time with her heartbeat. Then there was only pleasure and moaning and moving flesh.

She'd forgotten how good this felt. The Commander was too drunk to give a spectacular performance – in point of fact, it was nothing short of a miracle that his cock worked at all at this point – but she didn't care. And she liked the stubble. If she closed her eyes and ran her hands across it, she could pretend it was someone else under her, making love to her rather than having a torrid little fuck in this ramshackle hovel on Shakuras. Closing her eyes, she could pretend she was with Jim again, that he was running his hands through her hair, staring up into her eyes in adoration as he had done so many times in days gone by…

She shivered and clutched the Commander close for a moment. In the back of her mind, a far-back part she was trying her best to smother, she knew full well what she was doing, that she'd feel pathetic for doing it, but for now, she didn't care. Part of her also knew she was using the Commander in a particularly foul way – taking advantage of him, she would have called it in a past life – but she was long past caring about _that_ at all.

She leaned back from her position atop him, arcing her spine and sticking out her chest as she extended her bladed wings to their full span. She looked down to find the Commander staring up at her with an expression of mixed surprise and arousal on his face. She grinned, leaned down, closed her eyes, and kissed Jim again.

Long minutes they spent with their bodies entwined on the floor. At one point, when they'd switched positions and he was on top of her, she put her fingers on his temples and used her telepathic powers to fire as many of the pleasure receptors in his brain as she could – an erotic trick she'd discovered one day with Jim, and could perform far more easily and effectively now. She moaned with gratification as she felt him suddenly jerk and spasm atop her, held him close as he almost immediately climaxed thereafter.

He held himself over her for another long moment before falling to the side, exhausted. She smiled and snuggled up close to him.

"Jim…" she breathed before she could stop herself.

She realized the mistake she'd just made almost immediately as she felt him suddenly go rigid beside her. A long second passed.

Then he burst out laughing.

"What?!" she demanded, suppressing her humiliation by substituting rage. "What's so damn funny?"

But the Commander didn't reply. He just continued laughing, curled up and almost choking with fits of helpless laughter.

She seriously considered killing him right then. The Commander had seen her, the Queen of Blades, _her_, in a moment of weakness and vulnerability she denied to herself and allowed nobody else to see. With that one word, that one slip-up, her motive in coming to him that night had been laid bare. He would, she realized, always have that power over her, as long as he lived – the power of knowing the one thing she desired and could never have again.

And she could not abide that.

But she also knew that if she killed him, all her hard work in establishing this alliance of convenience with the Protoss would go straight out the airlock. So she had to content herself with struggling back into the remains of her uniform and attempting to make something resembling a dignified exit, pursued constantly by the Commander's laughter.

By the time she'd gotten her clothes back on and was about to leave, the Commander's laughter had subsided to a chuckle. She spared a glance backward to see him still lying there, naked, on the floor. Their eyes met, and she paused midway out the door.

"Goodbye," he said simply.

She stared blankly at him.

"What?" he said. "Were you expecting something profound?"

She snarled at him and stormed out, leaving him alone in the hovel.

The Commander laughed again and stared at the ceiling. He lay there for a few moments, then got up, walked over to his pack, and retrieved a battered old photo. There the five of them were. Himself, Jim, Arcturus, Duke, and Sarah. Holding up glasses of champagne and smiling into the camera. A frozen moment of a happier time.

Staring into the photo, he noticed Jim's arm around Sarah's shoulder, and sighed.

"I suppose," he mused aloud, "that I was too."


End file.
